


The Magpie Aims for the Eyes of Narcissus

by BurlesqueRomantique



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Horror, M/M, Makeup Artist Viktor, Model Yuuri, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9433223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurlesqueRomantique/pseuds/BurlesqueRomantique
Summary: Aspiring model Yuuri Katsuki finds himself the epicenter of intense fascination and jealousy throughout the industry due to his youthful countenance and beautiful sensuality. With gentle nudging from enigmatic makeup artist Viktor Nikiforov does Yuuri begin to realize the power that his beauty holds, but as he revels in his self-discovery he finds that the other models are viciously desperate to have what he has. And they’d do anything to have it.It forces Yuuri to question exactly whose side Viktor is on.





	

Blood dripped languidly down his arms, soaking into the carpet below him. He lay haphazardly, a rag doll, across the black settee couch. Red ran like rivulets down his neck and disappeared into the lining of his dark outfit. It was soaked into his hair, coating it like a layer of gel – slicked back and syrupy. His dead gaze fixed blankly into something in the distance with his head tilted _just so._

Staged floor lamps adorned the sides of the couch, one elegantly broken at the end of the couch where his head lay dramatically while the other stood upright, casting shadows.

Bright white light flashed across his features in rapid succession, illuminating the dark sequins of his outfit like stars dotting across the sky. His theatrical pose enhanced the macabre visage of innocence painted across his face, a stark contrast to the blood still dripping and the doll-like limpness of his limbs. The quiet clicking and flashing light the only thing that makes any sound and suddenly an arm that was bent awkwardly slipped, twitching slightly during one of the various sessions of rapid light and -

“Yuuri!”

A sharp voice cried out in exasperation, and suddenly the atmosphere was lost. The man on the couch sagged in both reprimanded disappointment and relief from the tension it took to keep the pose for so long. He sheepishly glanced up at the photographer and his best friend.

“Sorry Phichit, I didn’t mean to! You always give me such difficult poses and sometimes I just get…” he trailed off before sighing, leaning back into the couch and now feeling rather uncomfortable now that he had been broken out of his concentration. Uncomfortable that he was talked into such an erotic pose and that he had gone through with it. How embarrassing.

Phichit heaved a dramatic sigh and let his relatively amateur camera bounce against his chest as it hung from his neck before giving Yuuri a fond glare.

“I know how you get, Yuuri, but you’ve got so much potential! You’ll never get into the industry if you don’t expand your horizons a little! It’s a very ruthless business,” Phichit lectured sagely, nodding along to his own words. Yuuri rolled his eyes and gave him a lopsided smile.

“You think I don’t know that? I just don’t think I necessarily have the appeal to make it in the industry like this. And you’re right, they _are_ ruthless. How am I supposed to compete with other models like this? I’m twitchy with anxiety,” Yuuri paused. He glanced down at his feet, blurry without his glasses, and felt the incompetence swell within him. As an afterthought, he added,

“They’d eat me alive.”

With a sense of finality to his words Yuuri lifted himself from the couch and approached Phichit and his small table of supplies, groping listlessly until his hand came in contact with his glasses and slipped them onto his face. Phichit was pouting at him and he already knew what he wanted to say.

He wanted to say that he knew Yuuri could do it if he tried.

That the way Yuuri was may cause problems for him posing in front of others or walking down a runway or literally anything else that involved putting himself out there for crowds of people to see.

That despite that Yuuri had a talent for modeling, that he had a look about him that just made him _different_ , and that he just need to take the chance and explore himself a bit more and his portfolio would be perfect.

Phichit said none of this, though, and Yuuri was glad for it. He didn’t need the same lecture again and again. It just made it worse. He was tired, eager to finally leave, and finally feeling itchy with the imitation of blood drying on his skin and crusting in his hair. He picked idly at his hair and turned to see Phichit beginning to pack up his belongings.

“Did you get enough pictures?” Yuuri questioned, feeling guilty that he had ruined Phichit’s shoot and that he didn’t get all the photographs that he wanted, even though they were initially for Yuuri’s portfolio in the first place.

Phichit grinned placatingly at him, patting his camera fondly.

“Don’t worry. I think I’ve got enough pictures. I’ll have to print them off at home though. It’s already getting dark, and I think that someone else had booked the studio after me. I’d rather not get into any petty fights with another photographer for hogging the studio,” he hummed, gathering up parts of the set and rearranging them into obscure parts of the room so they’d be out of the way.

“That’s good,” Yuuri muttered before grabbing his belongings, “I’m going to go wash up a bit before we head out. I’d rather not walk down the street looking like this.”

“Ah, wait! Before you go let me take a picture so that I can post something later!” Phichit rushed over, nearly tripping over the displaced lamp in his exuberance, and pulled Yuuri close enough that their faces pressed together. “Say cheese!”

“Ugh, Phichit- “

“Come _on,_ Yuuri! I never post your portfolio shots online because you’re so shy, but I still want people to see how cool you looked during the photoshoot!”

Yuuri slumped, rolled his eyes, but gave the mirrored image of them in the screen of Phichit’s phone a smile that was mimicked back at him. Phichit grinned elatedly and took the photo before gleefully tapping away on the device, seemingly allowing Yuuri to finally go off and clean himself up.

“I’ll meet you outside in ten!” he shouted over his shoulder, not waiting long enough for a reply before heading to the men’s bathrooms. Now that he was alone he finally dropped the tension thrumming throughout his body, pressing his hands to his face and breathing in deeply to calm the terrible, sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He’d been wanting to try for modeling for so long, something that would make him look less like himself and more like something beautiful. Something gorgeous and unattainable and worthy of being looked at. His portfolio was measly at best, with photographs mostly done by Phichit and while he was an amazing photographer he also wasn’t exactly a _professional._ And neither was he. His photoshoots always lacked something, they were never quite right, and he only grew more desperate as time went on. Everything had to be done cheaply but even cheap was becoming disturbingly expensive. He and Phichit could only spend so much on renting out the local photoshoot studio before it dipped too low into their necessity funds.

Guilt stacked upon guilt as Yuuri allowed the thoughts to consume him. Phichit at least had a stable enough job as a photographer. He was barely scrapping by as a cashier at the local market. He was lucky that Phichit was still letting him stay, considering that Yuuri always came up a little short on bills each month, leaving it to be covered by Phichit’s heftier paycheck. He tried leaving multiple times from the guilt tearing him apart, but his friend would have none of it. He assured Yuuri that he could stay no matter how long it took for his dream to come true. And while it sounded oh so terribly cliché, Yuuri appreciated Phichit’s support more than he could express.

Drowned by his thoughts, he paid little attention as he entered the men’s bathroom and approached the multitude of sinks against the wall. The anxiety he felt earlier with Phichit had tripled by this point and he was sure he was going to need to vomit before he left. He pulled stacks of paper towels out of the dispensers and forced his attention to the syrupy mess that was splattered along his neck, face, and hair.

He understood why Phichit wanted him to try more bold photoshoots. It didn’t stop the hot rush of embarrassment that overcame him every time his poses were too lewd or his theme too violent. It was out of character and over the top but…

He still liked them.

There was something wholly unsettling when he looked like this. Covered in blood and looking as innocent as a doe.

But he’d never be able to portray that for anyone other than himself and Phichit. And even Phichit was a stretch.

What a silly fantasy.

He absently began to scrub at the red smears, gathering dripping liquid from his collarbone and up his neck. Yuuri removed his glasses to wipe lazily at the sparkling makeup that adorned his eyes and cheeks. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open, but jumped like a startled animal when it closed with a loud click.

He whipped around to scold Phichit for sneaking up on him like that, only to find that it had not been Phichit who had entered the room. A man had waltzed in, very pale and tall and definitely not Phichit. Yuuri swallowed heavily before turning back and continued to wipe, now with frantic hands, across his face and neck.

Hyperaware and devastated to be caught seen like this he pointedly kept his gaze on himself in the mirror as the man sauntered over to the line of sinks the opposite from where Yuuri stood. Dread slithered along his insides when he noticed that the man kept eyeing him from across the room in the mirror’s reflection.

“Are you a model?” the man asked, voice airy and inquisitive. A lilt of some kind of accent seasoned his speech, but it barely registered in Yuuri’s mind as he jerked, so startled to be talked to that he dropped the red-laden paper towels to the floor.

“A-Ah, no, I’m not!” he gasped, leaning down quickly to gather his mess. He grabbed another handful of paper towels and started scrubbing hard at his arms, panicking. He wanted to leave now, to get away from this awkward situation.

“I see,” the man hummed, raising a brow and seemed unconvinced, “you look very much like one, though.”

Yuuri said nothing at that, stunned. Several beats of silence followed before the man spoke to him again.

“Do you have a name, then?”

Yuuri found himself blinking rapidly before creasing his brows. _Why does he want to know?_ He thought. Why would he care?

“…Yuuri,” he relinquished after a moment.

“What a nice name!” the man crowed jovially, “my name is Viktor.”

Yuuri found himself flushing, scrubbing hard enough into his left arm that it would surely be red from the force rather than the false blood. He still looked a mess so he couldn’t just leave yet, but his social awkwardness kept him from accepting the man’s – _Viktor’s_ – compliment or from responding to Viktor’s sad attempt to chat him up.

More silence filled the space between them for several minutes before Yuuri realized that Viktor was _still_ staring and finally he had the sense to question why the man was even here in the first place. He opened his mouth to ask, but Viktor cut him off. “Do you need help with that?”

Yuuri blinked, tilted his head to the side in absolute confusion when Viktor was suddenly approaching and he gestured at the pile of paper towels spilled around him. Yuuri inched to the side, finding himself being crowded against the edge of the sink. Viktor didn’t seem to understand personal boundaries despite being complete strangers.

Even as he thought this he still allowed Viktor to grasp his right arm and start wiping down it, effectively removing the red substance. He was tense, rather unsure about letting this happen, but Viktor looked like he knew what he was doing and if it helped Yuuri get out of here faster he wasn’t going to complain. He cleared his throat and glanced up at Viktor before parroting his question back at him.

“Are _you_ a model?” because he looked like it. That, and he still wanted to know why he’d suddenly shown up when he did. Like a ghost.

Viktor burst out laughing. Yuuri jumped at the sound, and found himself embarrassed all over again. Viktor must have noticed, so he forced down his laughter and shook his head, “No, Yuuri, I’m not a model.” He continued his gentle ministrations on Yuuri’s skin for moment before continuing, “I’m a make-up artist. For models.”

“Oh.”

Viktor looked amused. “I’m here to help with a photoshoot for a fashion magazine. Although this is a small studio, it’s secluded and not well-known enough to have many disturbances. I mostly work with runway models though.” Viktor paused before lowering his voice into a rather teasing pseudo-conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t go telling anyone we come here, okay?”

Yuuri nodded automatically, more focused on the fact that Viktor worked with runway models. Supermodels. He felt smaller now. He must look like a child playing pretend to this professional. The revelation that he technically _was_ playing pretend struck Yuuri deeply, painfully. It must have shown on his face because Viktor was suddenly leaning in too close.

“Are you alright?”

Yuuri shrunk away, bitterly intimidated, and mumbled a _m’fine_ before pulling himself fully away from the other. His skin was stained pink, but it no longer dripped freely from his arms like before. “Thank you for your help.” He forced out emotionlessly and began to clean up the mess left on the sink. It was too much, now, and he was leaving before he humiliated himself any further than he already had. He ignored how Viktor watched him as he hurried about. Shame ran through his bones like acid the sickening lurch of anxiety came back full force and settled like a beast in his abdomen.

Phichit was probably sick of waiting for him by now.

Viktor’s silence uneased him further, and he forced himself to turn back to him and inclined his head politely. “Thank you. Goodbye.” He ground out in a sharper tone. It snapped Viktor out of his silence as an easy smile crossed his face. He sauntered quickly toward his bag on the opposite counter and began sifting through it. Yuuri furrowed his brow and headed to the exit due to such an obvious dismissal.

Just as he placed a hand on the door to leave, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He twitched violently and whirled around because he’d jumped more in the presence of this man than he ever had around anyone else in the whole existence of his life and he was not going to stand for it any longer. As he opened his mouth, Viktor thrust his hand forward and what looked like a business card was presented to him.

“Would you mind taking my card with you?” Viktor inquired, a soft look on his face accompanied by a thin-lipped smile. Stunned, Yuuri hesitantly reached out and took the card. He cast a cursory glance at the words printed across the front, displaying Viktor’s name and profession with a splattering of phone numbers and finer print that he couldn’t read with just a quick look.

“Why are you giving this to me?” He asked incredulously. He didn’t need a makeup artist. Probably couldn’t afford one, either. He wasn’t even a proper model. For the first time in the brief moment he knew Viktor, he looked unsure.

“I have connections. If you’d like, I could try and pull some strings and get some agencies to take a look at your portfolio,” Viktor paused, appraising him, “…if you have one. Just give me a call if you think you’d like to try.”

Yuuri realized that Viktor didn’t believe that he wasn’t a model. Or, at least, he believed that Yuuri intended to become one. Yuuri twisted his mouth silently, trying to find the words that he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended by Viktor’s offer because it sounded too much like a handout, but another part of him saw this as a glittering opportunity. His head buzzed with too many thoughts, it was overwhelming, and it was becoming too much for him.

“I’ll think about it. Thank you.” And he turned on his heel and bolted out the door before Viktor could stop him for another strange whimsy. What it didn’t stop was Viktor’s voice echoing after him.

“You’d make a beautiful model, Yuuri!”

Yuuri sprinted, but he still caught the muffled words beyond the door, could practically hear the wink in Viktor’s voice, and he felt a heat spread across the back of his neck and his ears. When he was at a decent distance from the bathroom, he was finally able to hear what sounded like other people setting up equipment and an authoritative voice calling out orders.

Not wanting to be seen he snuck through the halls before finding the exit. It was dark out, much darker than he initially thought it’d be.

He saw Phichit’s silhouette in the parking lot before he heard him.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, what took you so long?!” Yuuri could see the tense lividness on his friend’s face as he approached. Feeling dazed, he apologized to him, explained that the makeup was a lot harder to take off and that’s why it took him so long. He decided not to tell him about Viktor. Once he was close enough, Phichit squinted and peered into Yuuri’s face intently. The anger melted away and his expression shifted to concern. “You alright?”

“Of course I am!” _He wasn’t._

And he’d really appreciate it if people would stop asking if he was alright.

 Phichit didn’t press any further, but the concern was still clear on his face. Yuuri kept a plastic grin on his face as he clambered into the passenger seat of the car, effectively cutting off any more questions. He watched from the corner of his eye as Phichit lingered for a moment before getting into the driver’s seat. He must’ve felt the uncomfortable tension in the space between them as he began to prattle on about inane subject matter; filling silence.

Yuuri drowned him out with his own thoughts, pointedly looking out towards the bleeding sky with a hand supporting his chin. He kept trying to separate what he felt about himself and what Viktor had said to him in the bathroom. It was hard for him to dissect; blurring the ideation of his own incompetence and Viktor’s kind? ill-intended? words to him until the tell-tale signs of a headache drummed behind his eyelids.

Only when the car lurched to a stop at a red light did his thoughts stop with it.

He came back to himself and blinked rapidly at his faint reflection in the window, and only then did he realize how tightly he was wound. His fists were clenched too tightly.

When he loosened them he found that he still had Viktor’s business card in his fist. Creased and crushed, but intact. Phichit was still droning on beside him.

Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to stop staring at it for the rest of the car ride.

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written anything substantial in like three years so I'm probably a little rusty, but I really wanted to write something for Yuri on Ice. And I came up with this mess, haha. I have very little knowledge on the modeling industry, but I have tried researching a bit so it's not completely unbelievable. I hope people enjoy it!


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